


saccharine

by tgtchm



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, alternative title: richard eats an orange and jeremy can't cope, completely improbable first time snoggage, set in the top gear days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgtchm/pseuds/tgtchm
Summary: Richard's licking the juice from his wrist, tongue pink against the pale of his skin, and Jeremy realises—belatedly—that he's in too deep.





	saccharine

**Author's Note:**

> something quick and dirty—not in content but in quality; it was written at 4 am after all—for my friend and beta Dani. how she puts up with me I do not know.

“Morning,” Richard mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, nodding at Jeremy as he steps into the portakabin.

Jeremy just nods back, eyeing off the fruit—an orange, if the peel on the sofa next to Richard and the heady scent in the air is any indication—before turning towards the kettle. “Morning. Cuppa?”

“If you’re making one. D’you know where James is?”

Shrugging, Jeremy turns back around to lean on the counter, folding his arms over his chest. “Late, probably. I’m not his keeper.”

If he’s grumpy, he can just blame it on how he’d got fuck-all sleep last night because his thoughts kept returning, unbidden, to Richard, to his eyes, to his lips, to how he keeps shooting glances Jeremy’s way because he knows, he knows that Jeremy’s just a little bit in love with him. Or in lust. He can’t tell, anymore, can’t be bothered to differentiate. And now that Richard is here in front of him, lounging on the sofa and eating a ridiculously juicy orange—as Jeremy watches, he takes a bite and juice flows down his fingers, suggestive in a way that Jeremy cannot explain—well, it’s almost too much, and he turns back to the kettle so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore.

“Andy’ll have his head again,” Richard says as Jeremy makes his way over with two cups of tea a few minutes later. “Third time this week.”

Jeremy shrugs, wrapping his hands around his chipped cup, relishing in the heat as it shocks him back to lucidity. “Not my problem if he doesn’t know what the accelerator’s for,” he replies, and nearly spills his tea down his front as Richard shoves another segment of orange in his mouth—and juice spills on his hand, down his wrist.

Which would be fine. Except Richard doesn’t reach for a serviette to fix the problem—instead he starts licking at his wrists, his tongue wetting his flesh in a way that Jeremy finds _beyond_ suggestive. In desperation he takes a sip of his tea, seeking distraction, only to yelp when he realises it’s still boiling hot. Richard reaches for him in alarm as he’s flailing, but the panic of having Richard _touching_ him with juice-wet hands spurns him further and he gets up entirely off the sofa, backing away like Richard’s just hit him.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

Richard’s staring at him like he’s grown another head and—well, perhaps he has. That would be the _least_ odd part of the day so far. He can’t stand this dancing around, cannot stand knowing that Richard must be feeling what he’s feeling, too, but refuses to acknowledge it. And—to make it _worse_ , like Richard is _spiting_ him—Richard, acting like nothing’s wrong at all, picks up the last segment of his orange and pops it into his mouth before deliberately licking the tips of his fingers.

Jeremy wants to scream.

“Don’t,” he says, only realising how hoarse he is until after the fact, “do that. Please.”

Something flickers behind Richard’s eyes—want? A challenge? Jeremy can’t tell—but he continues doing it anyway, deliberately being irritating because it’s what he does best. “Do what? Eat an orange?” He pauses, looks at Jeremy—now _this_ is a challenge. “Didn’t know it would set you off like a lunatic.”

If Jeremy had his cup in hand he’d throw it at the wall—in fact he half wants to throw _Richard_ at the wall, he’s that angry. There’s no point to this game, no point to dancing around it any longer; Richard is poking him, trying to get a reaction, trying to see how far Jeremy will go.

Well. Two can play at that game.

Crossing the floor in two strides, Jeremy leans down and grabs Richard by the collar to drag him into a fierce, heated kiss, not even having to feign surprise when Richard kisses him back instantly and eagerly; they’ve been gagging for this for months. It was only a matter of time.

Richard’s mouth tastes sickly-sweet and citrusy, the sultry depth of cigarettes lurking behind the taste—it’s addicting, all at once, and Jeremy remembers why he’s denied himself this for so long: now that he starts, he doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to stop. In fact, he doesn’t even bother to stop Richard’s hands when he starts fumbling with his shirt buttons—Jeremy keeps catching glimpses at him, his eyelids fanning across his cheek, hair mussed—and instead reaches for Richard’s own, parting his shirt to press his hand flat to his chest, feeling his heart beat like a hummingbird’s underneath his palm.

“We’re not really going to shag in the portakabin, are we?” Richard whispers a moment later as he—reluctantly—pulls back. His fingers are sticky where they’re resting on Jeremy’s cheek, but Jeremy doesn’t care.

“Who said we’re shagging at all?” Jeremy manages to reply, but it’s hollow and they both know it—the only thing stopping them is the fact that James might walk in at any moment, and that’s quite possibly the least erotic thing Jeremy can conceive of happening.

Richard just looks at him evenly for a few seconds before the hand that’s resting on Jeremy’s cheek moves so Richard’s thumb is brushing his lips. Obediently he parts them, darts his tongue out to taste the sweetness, grins as Richard gasps. “After,” he chokes out as Jeremy doesn’t relent, content at getting his revenge. “Your place.”

“All right,” Jeremy replies, and shivers with what’s to come.


End file.
